by Candace Camp
John was quick to help her, hooking his hands in the waistbands and drawing everything, petticoats, skirt and underpants, down to her knees in one swift movement. Priscilla kicked them off as he knelt there, drinking in the sight of her completely naked before him. His eyes roamed over her breasts and down to the plain of her stomach and abdomen, taking in the sharp thrust of her pelvic bones and coming to rest on her legs and the soft thatch of hair that lay between them.
“You are so beautiful,” he said huskily. “I could look at you forever.”
Priscilla lay quietly beneath his gaze, stirred by the heat in his eyes. He reached out and laid his hand upon her chest, skimming it down over her breast and stomach in the same way that his eyes had touched her. Her flesh quivered under his touch, exquisitely sensitized, so that she felt the texture of his skin as it moved along hers. Priscilla jumped a little when his hand touched the thatch of hair, and he paused. He traced his forefinger over and down onto her leg, then back up and across to the other leg. Gently he moved up the inside of her legs, teasing them apart.
Priscilla stirred under the sweet torture of his fingers. She wanted him to do more; she wanted him to touch her at the center of her heat. Yet the thought of it frightened her, too. Tension built in her as his fingers teased her, advancing and retreating, until before long she was so aching for release that she arched her pelvis upward, silently seeking him.
At that moment, he slid his fingers down into the crevice between her legs, threading through the soft, curling hair and onto the slick, hot flesh. Priscilla shuddered at the touch and bit back a groan, aroused past anything she had ever known could exist. Gently his fingers worked between the folds of flesh, down and up, grazing over a little nubbin and making Priscilla twist and moan in response. She clenched her fists on the ground beneath her, digging into the soft moss. Unconsciously she opened her legs wider, giving him greater access to the deep recesses of her femininity.
John sucked in his breath at the silent invitation. Passion pounded in him until he was almost dizzy with it, hard and aching for a release that he knew must be delayed for Priscilla’s sake. He forced himself to continue to probe softly, instead of plunging himself deep into her, as he wished. Stripping off the remainder of his clothes, he lay down on his side, letting his fingers roam and explore while he took her mouth in a kiss. Priscilla quivered at the double delight. As his tongue came into her mouth, he slid a finger gently into her. Startled, she stiffened, but he slowly stroked his finger in and out, matching the movement with that of his tongue. She felt filled by him everywhere, and the feeling was almost unbearably arousing.
He kissed her again and again while he opened her wider, filling her now with two fingers, stretching her pleasurably. His mouth left hers, trailing down her neck and to her breasts. He sucked at her nipple, flicking it to life, and as he did so he moved his fingers rhythmically in and out, and his thumb located and caressed the hot button of flesh. Priscilla whimpered at the wild sensations. She felt filled and possessed, as if he had taken control of her senses, and yet the sensation was not frightening, but delightful. There was such passion building in her that she thought she might explode at any moment.
Then he moved between her legs and, raising her hips, he began to probe at the gates of her femininity. Priscilla gasped at the unfamiliar touch, strange, yet curiously exciting. He moved slowly into her, stretching and filling her, and she wrapped her arms around him, urging him closer. He panted, sweating with the effort of restraining his passion so that he did not frighten or hurt her.
Priscilla was aware of a startling flash of pain, and then he was deep inside her, filling and fulfilling her in a way that she had never imagined. She wrapped her legs around him convulsively and held on, trying to absorb all the sensations bombarding her. He began to move within her, stroking forward and backward in a primal rhythm that left her trembling and breathless. She moved with him, taking in the slow, deep thrusts, her fingers digging into his shoulders. A moan escaped her as the tension built in her again, screaming along her nerves and tightening the knot in her abdomen.
Soon it seemed as if there were nothing to her but the yearning ache deep in her loins, the hunger that grew and expanded, sweeping her along toward some future she could not envision, yet wanted desperately. Then the knot within her exploded, hurling her into a velvet oblivion. She let out a soft cry of delight and surprise, and her body shuddered. John answered with a hoarse groan, pumping wildly into her. Priscilla clung to him, lost in a swirl of pleasure.
He collapsed upon her, sweating and spent. Slowly, blissfully, she floated back from the far reaches of pleasure. John kissed her neck and rolled off her onto his side, still cradling her in his arms. Priscilla snuggled into him, too filled with joy to speak or even think coherently. And soon they slid back into sleep.
THIS TIME, WHEN THEY AWOKE, the pale light of dawn was filtering down through the filigree of the tree branches above their heads. John opened his eyes, aware of nothing for a moment but a deep sense of contentment. Then the full understanding of what he had done the night before jolted him. He jerked upright, startling Priscilla.
“What?” She blinked up at him. Her mind was still fogged by sleep, though she was aware of a deep sense of happiness inside her. The world looked brighter this morning, more beautiful.
“My God.” He gazed down at her blankly.
“What?” Priscilla struggled to sit up on her elbow, alarmed at his expression, and as she did so, she became aware of the fact that she was lying there naked. She woke up completely then, memories of the night before flooding in on her. Oh, dear heaven! Had she been mad?
John’s eyes went to her bare breasts, which were swaying with her movement, and desire snaked through him, despite his horror. He groaned, reaching out and grabbing one of her petticoats and wrapping it around her, hiding her from his eyes. Priscilla took it gratefully. It felt so strange to be sitting there unclothed with a man. And yet… She could not help but remember how wonderful last night had been, how beautiful. She had felt something she had never even dreamed of, and though she knew that others would probably condemn her, Priscilla found herself unable to regret it. Whatever might happen, last night would always remain in her heart.
“I am so sorry. I never meant—” John began, then stopped. “I mean, I thought I had better control of myself. If I had not been half-asleep— But when I woke up, there you were, and so desirable. I didn’t think.”
“You regret what happened?” Priscilla tightened, her voice cool.
He stared at her. “No. I don’t regret what we did. It was the most wonderful thing I have ever experienced.”
“Really?” Priscilla’s expressive face lit up. “It was for me, too, but I didn’t think it would be like that for you.”
He pulled her to him impulsively, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her hair. “It was beautiful,” he assured her. “And you were wonderful…indescribably wonderful.”
Priscilla released a small sigh of satisfaction and snuggled against him. The doubts she had been feeling were dissolving quickly. She loved John, and last night had been a perfect expression of that love. Though he might not realize that he loved her yet, his words indicated that he had at least found last night to be just as wonderful as she had. “Good. Because I liked it exceedingly.”
Again he felt his response shooting through him like fire, and he knew he was already growing hard, wanting her.
“Priscilla…” he groaned, releasing her. He smoothed his hands down over her hair, pulled loose from its pins and flowing everywhere. He twisted his fingers into her tresses. “You are so beautiful, so utterly desirable…God, I want to make love to you again.”
Priscilla smiled back at him. “Then why don’t you?” she asked provocatively.
His mouth went dry at her words, his heart picking up its beat. He could not keep from thinking about lying back down on the ground with her and making love again. He remembered her passionate
response the night before, and wondered what she would be like when there was no newness, no pain.
He swallowed hard and stood up, turning away. “You know why not. It would be madness. You don’t even know who I am. I could be married and have seven children, so that I could not give you the protection of my name. I could be a scoundrel, so that my name would be a scandal itself, not a protection.”
“It is not your name I am asking for,” Priscilla replied evenly. What she really wanted was his heart, she knew, but for now his lovemaking would be enough for her.
“It is not just my name. It is what I am that worries me. I can’t help wondering why Benjamin Oliver knows me and why he wants me shut away. I keep thinking—what if I am a crook, too?”
“You are worrying about nothing.” Priscilla refused to believe that he was married, telling herself that surely he could not forget a wife and a family as if they were nothing. Besides, he wore no wedding band, and, while Mapes and Will might have stolen it, there was also no whiter band against his tanned skin where a wedding ring would have been. As for his other worries, that he might be a scoundrel, Priscilla dismissed them as rubbish. She knew he was a good person. Others might balk at the idea that he was an American and that one did not know who his family was, but Priscilla did not care about such things. It was what a person was that was important, not whether his family went back to the Conquest or not. Her own family was quite genteel, but where had that ever gotten them? It was all silly pride, she thought.
John took another tack. “Your father and Miss Pennybaker will be worried about us, you know.”
Priscilla’s eyes flew open wide, and her hand came up to cover her gasp. “Oh, no! You’re right. This is dreadful.”
She began to pull on her clothes, castigating herself for having fallen asleep last night. It did not speak very well for her, she thought, to have forgotten her father and her governess because she had been swept away by her own passion. She had been thoughtless and selfish.
Priscilla finished dressing and brushed the leaves and twigs from her clothes as best she could, running her fingers through her hair in lieu of a brush. She realized what a mess she must look. Thank heavens there would be no one to see her come in except her family. Looking at her, others would probably suspect that she had been—well, doing exactly what she had been doing. Still, she didn’t want the whole village of Elverton knowing it.
“Do I look all right?” she asked anxiously, giving her skirts a final shake.
“You look beautiful,” John replied, smiling, and leaned down to kiss her on her forehead.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, you look fine. Alive and healthy and like someone who had to spend the night in the woods, but none too worse for wear for having been kidnapped.”
“I suppose that will have to do.”
They left the clearing, heading back the way John had come last night. It was much easier going in the daylight, and they were able to see where to turn to take the more direct path to Priscilla’s home. Soon they were able to see Evermere Cottage ahead of them. Their steps sped up. As they reached the rear yard, the kitchen door burst open and Mrs. Smithson rushed out, arms wide open.
“Priscilla! My little love!” she sobbed, then tossed back over her shoulder, “Miss P.! Master Florian! It’s her! She’s home safe!”
Priscilla flew into the other woman’s motherly arms. Mrs. Smithson patted her, crying, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her, telling her fiercely that she ought to know better than to go off like that, then pulling her back to her massive bosom for another bonecrushing hug.
Behind them, Florian ran through the door. His white hair was flying every which way, and he wore no jacket, only his shirt, one sleeve rolled up and the other still fastened by a cuff link, and a waistcoat, which hung open and flapping. His disarray was normal, but the lines of worry in his forehead were not, nor were the tears of relief in his eyes.
“Priscilla!” He crossed the last few steps and pulled Priscilla out of Mrs. Smithson’s arms, which was no small feat. He looked at her and started to speak, but then just crushed her to his chest, saying her name again.
“Oh, dear! Oh, my!” Miss Pennybaker came out the door and fluttered across the yard, followed by the vicar, Dr. Hightower, the general and Alec.
Watching them, John groaned inwardly. So much for their hopes of keeping Priscilla’s abduction quiet.
“Dear girl!” the vicar exclaimed, shaking his white head as he hobbled across the yard, using his cane.
The general and the doctor quickly outstripped him, but stopped a few feet from Florian and his daughter. Mrs. Smithson stepped aside, beaming at her employers, and Miss Pennybaker fluttered around agitatedly, touching Priscilla’s hair or arm or back.
“Oh, dear! Oh, my!” she kept saying. “I was so afraid. Oh, Priscilla, it is so wonderful. A miracle! That’s what it is. Wouldn’t you say so, Reverend?”
“Yes, indeed…” the small man began, smiling, but Miss Pennybaker did not wait for an answer to her question, but hurried on.
“All night long we waited. We were so worried about you. All of us.” Her hands fluttered toward the rest of the group. “It is so wonderful to see you alive and well and— You are well, aren’t you, dear?”
She stopped fluttering for a moment and began twisting her handkerchief in her hands instead, watching Priscilla anxiously.
“Yes, I am quite all right,” Priscilla reassured her, giving her father a final squeeze and stepping back. “Nothing happened to me. I mean, well, obviously something happened, but I was not hurt. Honestly. You must not worry, Miss P.”
At that the governess burst into tears. Priscilla went to her and pulled her into her arms, patting her back and murmuring comforting things. “Hush, now, Miss P. I am all right. I promise you. And I’m back, and—”
She stopped, for the first time catching sight of the other men. “Alec! What are you doing here? And Reverend Whiting. Dr. Hightower. General. I—I am surprised to see you all here.”
“Do you think we would stay home, knowing that you were in danger?” the vicar chided her gently. “When Florian came to my house last night to tell me the news, of course I came back here with him. I could hardly let him go through such a time alone.”
“I happened to be at the vicarage when your father came,” Alec put in. “I had driven the trap over with a few things from my mother for the charity bazaar. So I offered to bring the vicar and your father back here in the trap.”
Dr. Hightower said heartily, “They thought my services might be necessary, though you look well enough….” His last words ended on a questioning note.
“Yes, I am fine. I was not hurt. Well, I did lose consciousness for a little while, when they put that cloak over my head. He slung me over his shoulder, you see, and it was hard to breathe, what with being jounced….” Priscilla stopped, realizing that she was rattling on nervously. “Really, I am fine. You were sweet to worry, but it’s over, and nothing worse happened to me than being locked in a hut.”
“Locked in a hut! Oh, my dear!” Miss Pennybaker put her hand to her heart and looked as though she might swoon. At that, the general moved forward quickly and placed a strengthening hand under her elbow.
“There, there, Miss Pennybaker,” he told her with bluff concern. “It’s all right. It’s over now. No need to be upset.”
“But the scandal!” Miss Pennybaker wailed, bringing her handkerchief to her nose and sniffing. “She has been out alone all night! Worse—with a man. And everyone will know! Her reputation is ruined. She will never marry now.”
John started to speak. He wanted to tell the woman that Priscilla had no need to worry about that, that he was going to marry her. But he stopped; he could say nothing, and he knew it. He did not even know whether Priscilla would want to marry him. And until he knew who he was, he had no right to ask her.
“For God’s sake,” he said as he moved forward, his inner frustration making him
irritable and impatient. “What a thing to worry about! She could have been raped or killed, and when you find out she was not, all you can say is that her reputation is ruined.”
“Oh…” Miss Pennybaker moaned. “Don’t say such things! I feel faint.”
The general cast John a baleful look and patted the woman’s arm, saying, “Don’t mind him, my dear lady. He simply does not understand. American, you know. He would not understand a woman of your fine sensibilities.”
Alec, who had been quiet throughout all this, took a deep breath and stepped forward, with the expression of a man going to the guillotine. “Priscilla, I will marry you. You won’t have to worry about your reputation or what people will say. You will be a duchess.”
“Oh, Alec…” Priscilla smiled at him. “You are very sweet to offer, but, truly, it is not necessary. Miss P., please stop worrying about my reputation.” Why had she said that right here, in front of everyone—especially John? Now he would think that it was his duty to marry her, that she would expect him to. And forcing John into marriage was the last thing she wanted. “I have no intention of marrying anyone. I am sure we can count on the discretion of our friends to keep the matter quiet.” Her eyes swept over Mrs. Smithson and the men.
Everyone hastened to agree, assuring Priscilla that no word of what had happened, either her kidnapping or her rescue, would escape their lips. Frankly, Priscilla had her doubts, especially when it came to the vicar keeping silent in face of his wife’s questions. He was the dearest and kindest of men, but he was no match for his wife.
